Page 5 of Phoenix Falling
“Did you want something?”
Only after the question escaped me did I realize how many ways it could be taken. Sun registered the innuendo too, apparently, because he said, “Oh, definitely. More than one thing.”
The white of his teeth gleamed in the darkness—and the hint of fangs at the edge of his smile had the butterflies in my belly taking flight once more. Arik had bitten me more than once; it had been a uniquely sensual experience. I could only imagine what that experience might be like with Sun.
“But I’ll settle for talking right now,” Sun continued. “Tell me about yourself.”
I couldn’t help it; a snort broke through my nerves.Fat chance, big boy.“What did you want to know.”
“Everything.”
Everything… “That’s a pretty tall order.”
Sun relaxed against the back of the barstool, his legs still bracketing mine but giving me a bit of breathing space. “I have all night.”
“What if I don’t?”
“We’ll meet again tomorrow night.”
“We will, will we?”
Holy crap, was I seriously sitting here sparring—albeit verbally—with the almighty Sun? What had come over me? And an even better question: what had come over him? He should be doing this with the sensual Risk, not mundane Rissa.
And yet Sun wasn’t looking at anyone else. His eyes weren’t glowing for anyone but me. He held out one long-fingered hand imperiously. Without thought, I placed mine into his. The stroke of his thumb over my skin melted any resistance I’d thought I had.
“We will,” he assured me.
“I see.”
He raised a brow and waited. His thumb continued its caressing. My mouth opened, and I began to talk.
Sun was dangerous, I reminded myself. And yet I didn’t stop. Trouble or not, I couldn’t stop, not now that he wanted me.
For tonight, at least, I’d take what I could get.
ChapterThree
SUN
“Are you certain you are prepared for this?”
I wasn’t prepared for anything after the havoc Rissa had wrought on my body, my thoughts. The reaction to her had put my unwilling attraction to Risk earlier last night to shame. I didn’t understand it, but neither myself or my animal wished to ignore it.
Nevertheless I pulled my thoughts away from saying good night—or rather, good morning in the human world—to Rissa at dawn with a promise to text, and turned my attention to my second in command.
Basile was a massive basilisk shifter who always held a hint of a hiss in his words, even when in human form. That hiss had been even more pronounced since the death of his adopted son, Thomas, nine weeks ago. Our first casualty of this war. I had prayed at the time that he would be the last, but that was a fantasy that had no hope of coming true. The Anigma were merciless. They had slaughtered thousands already in their quest to rule the world, and they would not spare us any more than they had innocent women and children.
“I am prepared.”
The question wasn’t, was I prepared. It was, were my people? My answer to that was certain: no, they weren’t ready, but we were better to face that sooner than later. It was time the Archai, both here and elsewhere, knew the full truth of what was going on in our world, not the tiny slivers our king had allowed us to give them so far.
Basile gestured toward the deep amethyst cloth hanging on one side of the mirror. “No robes?”
The royal robes were worn by those of my bloodline anytime they performed official duties. Like speaking before the clan in a public forum. Tonight that would be me. “No robes.” I would face our people as what I was, a warrior. Because only a warrior could lead us through what we were facing now.
Basile grunted, a response that could be positive or negative. It was impossible to tell with him. I stared at his reflection in my mirror. Like me, his hair was a vibrant red, and he topped out at almost seven feet tall, a handful of inches above my height. His eyes were yellow-green and contained the slitted pupils of his animal form at all times. Lately those eyes had been shadowed, and the presence of the jagged mourning cuts torn into his cheeks by his own claws told why. His grief could not have been deeper had Thomas been his own son.
“You look tired,” I told his reflection. “When’s the last time you fed?”
